Three is the Lucky Number
by GwenStacy
Summary: Instead of three months like her Mom, it’s a little better: 3 years. After three years of marriage with Jess, Rory questions their relationship in panic. Future Lit. Complete.


**Three is the Lucky Number**

**Disclaimer **I own nothing that belongs to the WB/CW studios or AS-P.

**Summary **Instead of three months like her Mom, it's a little better: 3 years. After three years of marriage with Jess, Rory questions their relationship in panic. Future Lit. Complete.

**Author's Note **My love for the Literati has not waned, but this whole leaving, Gilmore love life curse, well, has to be done.

---

Rory closed the closet door with a bang. All her clothes were packed in numerous bags and she was now ready to get started on her bloated number of shoes that were packed in one of the cabinets of their kitchen in their shoebox apartment in New York. Their apartment. Jess & Rory's place.

Tears streamed from her eyes, a rare sight to see Rory crying, with mascara tracks marking her peaches and cream complexion. Her curls for work at a growing political magazine were unraveled and limp, and they stuck to the nape of her neck and her forehead. She had worked up a sweat running around. Her neighbors were surely going to complain about the racket that she caused this evening, but the only one to be home (home) to take the grievances was going to have to be her husb…Jess.

She stuck shoe after shoe into a black garbage bag until a decorative buckle of a boot caught onto the delicate bow of a pink heel and the buckle ripped it off along with badly scraping some of the fabric. Rory stared at the ruined shoe, one of her favorites, and began to sob harder. She held the shoes to her chest as if they would give some kind of hidden shoe strength or happiness that they always seemed to bless upon women when they went shopping for them. Alas, no luck, and Rory was stuck leaning against the oak cabinets, on the kitchen floor, clutching worthless footwear. It was pathetic, she knew.

It was pathetic that this time in the Rory and Jess saga, it was she that was skipping out and running away. She didn't even have a reason to be leaving. Jess was great. He really was. The brooding young teenager had turned into a mellow, thoughtful man that still had it in him to tell her dirty jokes just to get her to blush, and would once and while sneak a smoke.

---

"Happy Anniversary," Jess murmured to her as he sat down next to her on the couch and handed her a blue box.

_She did the mandatory girlish gasp as she opened it to revel the beautiful golden-paged copy of a collection of English fairy tales. The cover was a velvety emerald and embroidered with yellow and pink flowers, and inside the hand done artistry was gorgeously done with rich colors to make the pages come to life. "It's so beautiful. Oh, Jess, wow."_

"_I found out about a tiny town in England that still makes handmade books. I thought you would appreciate the level of skill these people have."_

"_Appreciate them? I worship them! Look at this page! It looks like the dragon is going to come off the page. Thank you so much," she kissed him lovingly. Rory pulled away and pouted, "I feel my gift was so lame compared to this."_

"_Come on! A signed Smashing Pumpkins CD is not lame," he laughed._

_She grinned, happy he liked her gift. "I don't know why you like them."_

"_I am still ashamed you don't."_

_They sat next to each other in comfortable silence, her head on his shoulder, and his hand stroking her hair. _

"_Three years," she whispered._

_He smiled softly, "Three years."_

"_I made an honest man out of you three years ago. You should thank me."_

"_I love you," Jess told her instead and kissed her._

_Breathlessly Rory hummed, "I love you more."_

_---_

A month ago had been their three-year anniversary as a married couple. The whole marriage thing had been easy. It had been effortless for them, like they had never spent a day apart. They had even gotten the hang of the communication game. They were best friends first, and partners second.

Now, just weeks later, Rory was second-guessing the whole relationship. He had come home late from work—he must be having an affair. (With who? The guy at the register? He didn't work with any women.) He had forgotten to pick up groceries—he didn't care about her well being any more. He had yelled at her for telling her mother about his tardiness and forgetful mistakes—they were heading towards divorce. They were just tiny mustard seeds of doubt that subconsciously were planted into her brain, and when her friend Lisa from work had announced she was becoming part of the whole separation statistic, Rory had come back to the apartment freaking out. Lisa and her husband had seemed so together!

It didn't matter that last night they had had great sex, or that this morning Jess had made her chocolate chip pancakes with plenty of syrup, or that she had randomly called him during her lunch break just to tell him about her coffee adventure, or that he had listened with great interest just to show up ten minutes later with some of Truncheon NY's fantastic coffee with a kiss and an 'I love you' thrown in for free. Just because she was his favorite person in the world. Just because every time he looked at her he thought he was the luckiest sonuvabitch alive. Just because she was his Mrs. Lorelai Leigh Gilmore Mariano with the whole name attached to the small woman.

It didn't matter about all that. The little shiny things were to busy blinding her eyes.

Rory briefly remembered how all her mom's relationships had ended after three months for the little things. It was pattern. Hey, she did a little better right? Stacked up, it was almost three years total with Dean, three years with Logan, and now three years of matrimony with Jess not including the three years of dating in high school and in adulthood. Her mom has never made it this far.

Suddenly she's proud of herself. She lasted three years. She's a winner. Rory let herself smile a bit. It quickly came crashing down as she realized what she was doing. She was trying to make an excuse with an innocent aura. It was always like this.

Rory was done packing. All the little things, like a toothbrush, she would buy later. She looked around the apartment, all their books and music and movies, shared ownership, and turned her back on it. She stuck a letter she had written early underneath a letter 'J' magnet with the written full 'Jess' behind it in her careful writing. He'd see it.

It said the regular—I'm going to Stars Hollow, this isn't working, do you really love me, I can't handle this anymore, I love you—and she forgot it would tear him to pieces. At the moment she was actually thinking he would shrug at it and throw it in the trash then take out a beer and invite Heidi from flat number 5 on the second floor to join him.

Was this what people call panic? She slammed the door.

---

Jess opened the door, late from work again. His newest author was completely unreliable and had been late an hour to a meeting between them. He hated incompetent jerks. He was happy to be coming home to the very opposite of an incompetent jerk his wife…who was nowhere to be found.

"Rory?" he called. "Lucy, I'm home!"

He expected some kind of rant, or noise, or shriek to be echoing, but nothing. He saw a letter attached to the fridge with his name on it, and took it down. After scanning through it, he sighed sadly, and grabbed the phone.

A few rings, "Hello? Lorelai? Is she there?"

"Yup."

"I expected this," he told her, "three is the lucky number for the Gilmore's in relationships."

"Give it some time."

"Complete breakdown?"

"She was crying and blubbering something about Heidi feeding you bratwurst. You hate German food."

"I'll be over tomorrow."

"Ok."

"I'll bring you her toothbrush when I get there. She hates using a new one unless it's four months old. She got it two months ago."

"Our lovely quirks."

He heard a faint 'Is that Jess?' in the background, and he smirked tiredly.

"Hi Jess."

"Hi Rory."

"I love you."

"I love you more."

"Bring me my toothbrush?"

"Sure."

---

Statistics are overrated anyway.

Three years? She was promised a lifetime.

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**A/N** _#2_ Sorry if there are mistakes. I always write at night, so editing is kind of a eyelid drooping thing. Feedback is so greatly appreciated. Makes me, and any other author feel special.

Love & Peace,

Mira


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